


This Life Has Left Me Cold And Damned

by geckoholic



Series: kink bingo fills [12]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Blood Magic, Blow Jobs, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Come Marking, Developing Relationship, Edgeplay, M/M, Ritual Sex, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 05:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15406215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: Keith is an incubus, but having grown up as an orphan he never knew much about his affliction. The last thing Keith expected was to fall in love with Shiro, the professor teaching his evening course on mythical creatures, and having those feelings reciprocated introduces him a whole new set of problems. As it turns out, though, it might also lead him to their solution.





	This Life Has Left Me Cold And Damned

**Author's Note:**

> For the [keithminibang](http://keithminibang.tumblr.com). Accompanied by art from [blackxpaladins](http://blackxpaladins.tumblr.com), which you can see [HERE](http://blackxpaladins.tumblr.com/post/176244712102/shiro-draws-back-grins-looks-down-at-keith-as-if), and soon to be accompanied by art from [ajhebard](http://ajhebard.tumblr.com), too. Please check out the links so you can marvel at the art and shower it with love! 
> 
> It also fills the _rituals_ square on my seasonofkink bingo card. 
> 
> Beta-read by skorpiac and beta-lactamase. Thank you!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine. Also, thanks to shirosredknight for brainstorming this into existence many, many moons ago. XD
> 
> Title is from "Red Cold River" by Breaking Benjamin.

The damn bar is so crowded that Keith can't shift from one foot to the other without getting an elbow to the ribs and a hushed apology from one direction or the other. This time it's a girl so young she can't be anything but a first year, and Keith gives her a forced smile. One downside – or upside, Keith guesses, depending on one’s vantage point – of living in a college town is the fact that the bars are always full. During the weekend, during the week, it doesn’t matter. 

This is the fourth time he and Shiro have gone out together, and they have yet to find a _nice_ place that isn’t overflowing with people, and grants them enough privacy to talk. Sure, there are other options, like the few lesser frequented, old-fashioned watering holes dotted around town, but they are, in one word, nasty. And meeting at either of their apartments? No. Bad idea. A _very_ bad idea. Keith has a fair amount of self-control, but it’s not unlimited. Going to the movies is out for similar reasons, what with the dark and the proximity, and they’re not quite at the point in their dating life to go for quiet, romantic dinners.

So not a lot of options.

Luckily, Shiro has yet to complain about Keith’s choice of venue. If he’s fed up with the loud college bars that have ten minute queues just to get a drink, then he hasn’t said anything. 

He’s currently balancing two Whiskey Sours en route to their tiny table in the back, shouldering his way past scantily clad, swaying college students who only just passed legal drinking age, and he’s smiling at Keith as if Keith hung the moon itself. As if that ten minute booze run was equal to a year-long separation and he’s about to drape himself around Keith’s neck upon his return like the heroine in a sappy war movie. 

Keith doesn’t deserve him, frankly. Shiro’s smart and he’s pretty and he’s super nice and patient, and Keith still wonders what possessed the man to agree when Keith first asked him out a few weeks ago, awkward as they come, stuttering, cheeks hot with embarrassment. But say yes he did, enthusiastically so, even.

And here they are.

And it’s becoming increasingly apparent that Keith did not think this through. At all. Because while, at surface level, it would seem like he’s living the dream, dating the hot history professor from his evening course, the actual situation is a tad more nuanced than that. 

Keith’s life is complicated. Dating brings with it a whole set of issues and questions, requires a few conversations he has yet to have, and he’s remembering why he never usually bothers with anything more than drunken one-night-stands.

See, Keith has an affliction.

Having made his way back to their table, Shiro unloads their drinks and captures Keith’s waist, leaning in to nose at his neck. He’s had a few, and he’s getting affectionate. It’s a good feeling, to have him plaster himself to Keith like this, his body so close, his breath on Keith’s skin, and that, right there, is part of the problem. It makes Keith’s body thrum with need, a need that’s beyond human desire or arousal. And that is _dangerous_.

Keith is an incubus.

Shiro draws back, grins, looks down at Keith as if he wants to devour him – which is ironic given the circumstances – and tips Keith’s head up for a kiss. Keith, for his part, momentarily forgets why he shouldn’t risk losing his tenuous control, but he’s acutely reminded a moment later when a different kind of hunger shoots through him like an electric current. Just like that, the night is ruined.

He disentangles himself, pushes Shiro back, and gives him a sheepish smile. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and it’s only half a lie. “I better go home.”

It hurts to see Shiro’s face fall, disappointment written all over it, but of course he catches himself quickly and bravely returns the smile. “Sure. I can walk you – “

“No!” Keith interrupts quickly, too quickly. When Shiro’s expression turns positively crestfallen, he amends, “I feel super nauseous. Might not make it home. The last thing I want is for you to watch me barf all over the sidewalk.”

Shiro grimaces and nods, although he still gives a pretty accurate impression of a puppy kicked out into the rain. “Sure. Okay. Call me when you get home, yeah? So I know you got there okay?”

He’s just so nice. Such a great guy. Keith winces inwardly, but gives him a thumbs up and turns to all but run out of the bar.

 

***

 

Once home, Keith forces himself to slow down, to endure the hunger as long as possible. He puts yesterday’s laundry away. He does the dishes he didn’t have time for earlier. He checks his email and replies to a few, then sits down in front of the TV to channel surf.

Ten minutes in, his hand crawls towards his crotch without conscious permission, instinct reaching for the nearest avenue of release. A simple orgasm won’t do much without someone else around to feed off of, but it’ll tide him over for tonight, at least stem the worst of the animal need that’s been pooling low in his belly for weeks now – a constant ache. Usually he’d go out and find himself a one night stand, do them in a bathroom stall or a motel room and leave before they come back to themselves question why they’re feeling so queasy, though he’d linger nearby just long enough to ensure they could leave on their own two feet regardless. But with Shiro in the picture… he doesn’t want to cheat.

 _Shiro._ While he unbuttons his jeans, Keith imagines how Shiro’s body looks, his mental picture painted thanks to the tight shirts he often wears and that don't leave much to the imagination in regards to the body hidden underneath. Keith’s hand wanders underneath the waistband of his boxers, reaching inside to get his cock out. Unsurprisingly, he’s already rock-hard, and he hisses with pain-pleasure when he first wraps his own hand around the base. He’s oversensitive, a side-effect of the hunger and keeping himself just on the edge of starvation. He starts stroking himself, and soon loses control of the rhythm. Frantic, like a teenager chasing quick release underneath the covers in the morning. Like he did so many times when he was a teenager himself, young and alone and with no idea why his body craved more and more each time, each climax serving to increase his hunger.

Keith doesn’t know his parents. He was a baby when his mother left and a toddler when his father died, only a year or two later. With no one around to explain why he was different, Keith was left to experiment. At the age of sixteen, Keith’s then-boyfriend began withering away after a couple weeks of teenage experimentation, they went to the emergency room together. Luck would have it that the nurse who attended to the boy was another incubus. It later occurred to him that he wouldn’t be surprised if there was an incubus stationed in every hospital in the country to keep an eye out for such incidents. Either way, that’s when Keith got a hurried crash course about the needs that steer their kind, about basic safety, about what’s acceptable and what isn’t, and how to feed without dropping bodies.

He broke things off with his boyfriend the same night. The thought of having hurt someone he loved, however unintentionally, cut him deep. Since then, he strayed from place to place, alone, avoiding suspicion, never letting anyone close. Until now. 

Until Shiro.

Keith’s hand flies over his cock, his mind filled with fantasies of Shiro on his knees for him, Shiro laid out on his back, legs spread, his dick hard and his taint shiny with lube, a finger teasing his hole. The expression on his face is eager and encouraging, a promise of love and understanding on his lips.

And with that, Keith comes, a sudden and harsh climax that's more shock than pleasure. He already knows the hunger will be back within minutes. It’ll keep getting worse until he finds a solution. What he should do is break things off and leave town. Leave Shiro be, stop being selfish and trying to live an impossible dream. One human can’t sustain an incubus. It would kill him, and that’s assuming he doesn’t declare Keith a lunatic for confessing that he’s something other than human.

He flops back against the couch and wipes his hands on the hem of his t-shirt. It’s unfair. He never asked to be born like this, and it’s so much harder now that he’s been reminded of what it feels like to love someone, to _want_ to stay somewhere.

 

***

 

The next time Keith sees Shiro, it's at uni. That's where they met; Keith's course on mythology in historic sources is taught by none other than Shiro. He made a name for himself with this course, and he was the reason Keith moved to town in the first place. In the beginning, Keith had every intention to milk him for all his knowledge on Keith's affliction and move on. Fast forward to today, they haven't once talked about incubi, and Keith is hopelessly in love. He’s too stubborn – or stupid – to stay away even though he's become so weak that he stumbles into fellow students twice on the way to his seat. They all recoil from him a little, like he's a leper, and that tells him all he ought to know about how far this has progressed, how sickly he must look.

Today's lecture is about mythical creatures in Romanticism and Victorian literature – Dracula, Frankenstein's monster, that whole thing – and Keith has a hard time tracking the words. Shiro's voice might as well be his own personal siren song at this point, by the way it makes his skin prickle and the blood pump through his groin. Keith watches him through half-lidded eyes. This bad. This is really, really bad, and he's running out of time. He catches Shiro's eyes, see the look of worry on his face, and that's it. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get home before the end of the lesson, before Shiro's got a chance to ask uncomfortable questions.

Keith coughs as he stands – pure theater, and it's not like there's a single person in the lecture hall that wouldn't believe him if he said he's sick, Shiro included – but it serves to make people duck out of his way without a word and thus allows for a quicker retreat.

He practically feels Shiro's eyes hefted to his back as he stumbles towards the door, and takes a deep breath once he's outside in the empty hallway. He staggers a few steps further, one hand braced on the wall for balance, but then his legs refuse to support his weight any longer. Tears roll down his face, due to frustration and embarrassment more than pain, and he ends up kneeling a mere ten or fifteen feet from the door, slumped against the wall.

 _Shit._ He should move, get home or at least find somewhere more private to hide, but he's so tired. He's so hungry. The world blurs before his eyes, and soon fades from his vision completely.

 

***

 

Keith comes back to himself covered by a warm blanket and propped up on fluffy cushions, the surface he's lying on soft and comfortable, and he's momentarily confused.He hears the low clicking of someone typing on a laptop, the noise of a car reversing outside, and he feels nothing but blank defeat at realizing that he's in Shiro's office, on Shiro's couch, and that Shiro's with him.

He also feels slightly better than before, and well, it's the first time he ever risked starvation because his feelings made him stupid, but he's rather certain that shouldn’t be possible.

An office chair is drawn back, and Keith looks up to find Shiro approaching. “I think I can guess your thoughts, and the answer is yes. I fed you. Just a little bit to haul you back from the brink, though, so we'll have to do it again soon. I can't believe you let it come this far. I thought you'd talk to me way before it got this bad.”

Keith blinks. He could maybe bullshit himself into believing _fed_ was just an odd word choice, but the rest of that... It can't mean what he thinks it means. Shiro can't know. That's not possible. “What?” he slurs, then shakes his head, clears his throat, and tries again. “What are you talking about?”

Shiro crouches down next to the couch, strokes the hair out of Keith's face with a gentleness that makes desire shoot down his spine like a lighting bolt, and smiles. “I know what you are, and it's okay. We can figure this out.”

“No,” Keith shakes his head, the motion making stars dance in front of his eyes. He won't even contemplate the fact that Shiro knows, that Shiro knows and doesn't care, wants to help him, because it's too much for Keith's foggy brain to process right now. “No, we can't."

"And I'm telling you, we can," Shiro insists. His voice is gentle, patient. Like he's explaining a lesson to a student for the third time in a row and they're still not getting it. 

The thing is, he's _not_ detailing the impact of an abstract historical event. He's upending Keith's entire world view. Accepting that his affliction would make him a hermit, a wanderer, would mean he could never truly be with anyone he comes to love, took Keith years. What Shiro's saying is too good to be true. It's dangerous, offering the kind of fragile hope that leads to even greater pain when it's inevitably taken away again. 

"It's too risky. I can't feed off of you on the regular, I'll hurt you, but I also don't want to sleep with anyone else while we're together. I should...” Keith shakes his head again, more emphatically, and props himself up on his elbows. He swallows down a flurry of emotions, each of them so strong it might drown him. “I should leave. Forget about all this. Forget about you. But it's so hard.”

This isn't the kind of situation where love and understanding solve everything. Quite the opposite; this is the kind of situation where love makes things worse, could even be considered the core problem.

And yet Shiro's face is still inches away, and he's still smiling. He smells like cheap musky aftershave and old books, and Keith wants to believe, just for an hour or two, that miracles might happen after all. He doesn't resist when Shiro leans in to kiss him, but does draw back when he feels the spark of energy that surges through him at the contact – energy that he's siphoning from Shiro and no, no, that's not what he wants. He can't do this. He can't risk Shiro's life for his own survival.

Shiro's hands come up to frame Keith's face, interrupting his retreat and pinning him in place for a couple seconds more. The transferred life force sets his nerve endings on fire, like warm water poured over a man dying in the cold, and his head swims with it by the time Shiro lets him go. He licks his lips, dizzy with the energy settling into his system. The taste of Shiro still lingers there for him to savor.

“How?” is all he manages.

“Let's just say,” Shiro replies with a dorky wink, seemingly unaffected, “it runs in the family and my chosen field isn't totally random.” He cards a hand through Keith's hair, and Keith wants to hum out his contentment at the soothing touch. “You know what? I'll show you, after you get some rest. Sleep, Keith. Everything will look brighter in the morning, I promise.”

Keith knows he should protest, that nothing will look any differently in the morning, but he's tired, sated, and Shiro's with him, and so he allows himself to drift off again.

 

***

 

When he wakes, the sun is already rising in front of a cloudless sky outside. He stretches and yawns, eyes scanning the room for Shiro in the warm, dim light, and finds him asleep at his desk, pillowed on crossed arms, the dark laptop screen still open. Keith smiles at the sight. He sits up and rubs his eyes, and stands up to wander around the room.

Shiro's desk sits between two large windows. The couch Keith slept on is on the opposite side of the room, next to the door, and literally every other bit of wall space is covered with bookshelves so high even Shiro will have to strain himself to reach the topmost books. Some of the books look old-fashioned, hardcovers with elegantly bound spines. Others are modern paperbacks with slight cracks in their spines from being read, or new and completely untouched. He reads some of the titles mentioning long-lost cultures and empires that rose and fell centuries ago. The name _Shirogane_ sits behind more than one of them – Shiro's parents and grandfather also studied and taught history, all of them accomplished experts in their field.

 _It runs in the family._ Keith looks back at Shiro's sleeping form and frowns. Something tells him that statement encompassed more than just the interest in ancient cultures and their myths. He burns with curiosity, but his mind is also functional enough again to remind him that all of this is a mistake. That he should do the right thing, protect Shiro, and leave. He retrieves his jacket from where it's been thrown over the back of the couch and heads to the door, giving Shiro a last longing glance before he pushes the handle down.

It creaks considerably, the noise sounding amplified in the otherwise silent room, and Keith mutters a silent curse. He turns to Shiro, and sure enough, he's coming awake, staring at Keith from bleary eyes as he lifts his head.

“I hope you didn't plan on sneaking out while I was sleeping,” he says, his voice sleep-slurred. “That's really rude, Keith.”

Sighing, Keith takes his hand off the handle. “Slowly sucking the life force out of you with each feed until you're only a shadow of yourself would be super rude as well.”

Shiro huffs, stretching the kinks out of his back that sleeping slumped over the desk surely must have left. “I told you, it doesn't have to be like that.”

Keith whirls around, takes a few long strides towards the desk, suddenly furious. “It doesn't have to be like that? Do you have any idea what you're talking about? I've seen what repeated feeding does to people. I don't want that for you. I'd rather _die_.”

The sadness that falls over Shiro's face is hard to bear, even when diluted by a small smile. “I love you too.”

Keith pauses, breath ragged. “You're only making this harder,” he says. He means it to be harsh, a complaint, but it comes out as little more than a whisper, aggrieved and full of regret.

Shiro finally stands and walks around the desk, coming to a halt directly in front of Keith. He strokes his palm down Keith's jaw and tips his chin up. Even this small touch ignites need and desire in Keith, and he wants to cry with the unfairness of it all. He wants this to be real. He wants a way out. He doesn't dare hope that Shiro can, indeed, give him one.

“My great-great-grandfather was an incubus,” Shiro starts, in the same tone he uses for lectures, only warmer, more intimate. “My great-great-grandmother met him when she was very young. They were married for nearly forty years, and faithful to each other until the day he died.” He smiles, holding Keith's eyes. “My aunt settled down with a succubus a few years ago. They just bought a house and they're planning to adopt. Her partner would never dream of touching anyone else.”

Keith blinks at him. He sure noticed the hint at the common thread in both of these relationships, one Keith would have thought impossible for his own kind: loving monogamy, being with one person and one person only without destroying them. “How?”

“They became companions,” Shiro explains. His expressions softens further, and he brushes his thumb across Keith's lower lip, making him shiver. “The ritual devotes the human to an incubus or succubus and replenishes their life force after each feeding. Having incubus blood in our lineage, our family is especially well suited to companionship.”

The shaky grin Keith attempts won't be convincing at all, but hey, he tried. “So basically, you're proposing?”

“Ah, not quite.” Shiro cocks his head and smiles, warm and teasing and utterly irresistible. “It can be undone with another ritual.”

And that's good; knowing he won't trap Shiro for good if he agrees makes him more likely to consider this as a solution. The idea is tempting, so, so very tempting. For once he wouldn't have to give up his feelings for the person he loves. He could stay. He could be _happy_.

“So,” he ventures. “What does the ritual entail?”

Shiro manages to keep a perfectly straight face when he answers, “Oh, the usual. Sex. A small blood sacrifice. More sex. Candles. Incantations. Even more sex.”

 

***

 

A grocery run for candles and lube and a short drive across town later, they're in Shiro's apartment. It's spacious and neat and tidy, everything Keith expected, but with a touch of adorable dorkiness. Every room has its own set of bookshelves, even the hallway. They carry everything from professional literature and dictionaries, to trashy fantasy flicks and full editions of every Star Trek series ever released on DVD. The clash is adorable, and Keith grins as he runs his fingers over the spine of a worn The Next Generation tie-in novel.

Shiro's face heats a little, in a way it very much didn't when he explained the ancient sex magic they're about to perform. “I needed a counterweight to studying old cultures. Science fiction is as far from that as anything can go.”

“You don't have to explain yourself,” Keith says, turning away from the shelf. “Plus, I think it's cute.”

Shiro clears his throat, cheeks glowing an even deeper shade of red, and points at the middle of the living room. The room is large and hardly furnished, save for a couch, a TV set and, yes, another set of book shelves along one side. “We can do it there. Move the TV to the wall, roll the carpet up, and we'll have enough space.”

Keith shrugs. “You're the expert.”

They spend another couple minutes rearranging the furniture and lighting candles. Before long Keith sits on the floor in the middle of circle made by aforementioned candles, while Shiro goes to retrieve a few more items: pillows, towels, two bottles of water, and a small notebook that looks like it's older than both of them combined. Much older. A multitude of that, perhaps.

“The incantation texts,” he says, nodding at the notebook with no small amount pride, as he sits down next to Keith. “Handed through my family for generations.”

And then they're ready, all preparations made, and the next step is... well. Keith has a few theories.

“Any specific way we've gotta do this?” he asks, fingers wandering to the hem of his shirt but still reluctant, oddly shy, to start getting undressed. He’s had a lot of sex over the years, with lots of different people, and he thought he'd abandoned the concept of modesty a long time ago. But this isn't just that. It's not just sex. It's an offer, a promise, and that fact makes him self-conscious.

Shiro shifts so their thighs and shoulders are touching, the contact rolling through Keith like a current, and takes Keith's hand. “We have a few check-marks to hit, but don't worry about that now. I'll tell you when it's time.”

He tugs at Keith's hand, and Keith yields.

The kiss is blinding. It fills all his senses: Shiro's taste on his tongue, the noise he makes when Keith licks into his mouth or nips at his lower lip, the warmth of his body leaning into Keith, the touch of his hands through fabric as he works his way to the waistband of Keith's jeans and undoes his belt.

And while Keith is the one who has literally been starving for this, Shiro's eagerness rivals his own. They undress each other quickly, stumbling to the floor in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs in the process, kissing whenever they're close enough for that to work. Keith pulls Shiro's briefs past his hips, the last piece of clothing Shiro has left, and Shiro moans against his shoulder as he steps out of them. He already sounds wrecked. Not just that; Keith can feel Shiro's need buzzing under his own skin, sparking a different kind of hunger. And Keith _is_ starving. He’s denied himself for so long that even the whiff of arousal is to him what a rainstorm is to a wilting flower. He leans in and inhales, hard cock throbbing, and when Shiro catches him in a kiss again he can't help it anymore. He drinks the need right out of him, through the kiss, through his fingertips dancing down the swell of Shiro's ass, and Shiro leans into it, allows it, presses closer.

Keith draws away, suddenly all too aware of just how insatiable that hunger has become. He needs _so much_. Panic settles in, that he won't be able to pace himself, that he’ll take too much and leave Shiro a pale, lifeless husk long before –

“Shhh,” comes Shiro's voice, breaking him out of his whirling fear. “Come here.”

The words seem nonsensical, there is hardly a place where their bodies aren't touching yet, but Keith relaxes and lets himself be drawn into an even deeper embrace. Shiro directs them both to the floor, kneeling in front of one another, and reaches out to retrieve the notebook. He recites a few passages in a language Keith couldn't even begin to decipher and suddenly Keith's burning need settles into a faint hum; still there but not all-consuming anymore, and much easier to control.

Shiro smiles, perhaps feeling the tension drain out of Keith's posture at the incantation. “There. That's better, right? I've got you.”

And it seems wrong somehow that Shiro would reassure him when it's Keith who's dangerous, Keith who could drink him dry. He doesn't get a chance to voice the apology he wants to make, though; Shiro shushes him yet again.

“Lay back,” he says and moves out of reach to retrieve the lube and some of the pillows. Once the pillows are arranged to his liking, Shiro wastes no more time and settles down, squirts some lube into his palm, sits up, and reaches between his own legs with obvious intent.

Keith whines. Shiro is _gorgeous_. Tall and muscular, his skin looks almost luminous in the warm glow of the candles, cock straining against his belly, fully erect and growing red at the tip. All Keith wants is to take it into his mouth, to touch Shiro, to lick the planes of his stomach and chest and _taste him_ , but Shiro shakes his head.

“You can't let me come,” he starts to explain, then bites his lip, still teasing his own taint while he talks. His voice has grown heavy, a little low, breathless. “Not until we're done here. My orgasm, and you feeding off it, finishes the ritual. We still have a little ways to go before we're ready for that.”

Keith nods even while the idea unfolds in his imagination, making him want nothing more than to watch Shiro come undone, hear the noises he'll make when his climax washes through him, hold him while he calms down and drifts into sleep, exhausted and satisfied.

Nope. Keith screws his eyes closed for a moment and inhales. They can have that later. Hell, if this works they can have that _all the time_. He lifts his gaze and watches Shiro's face instead, noting the pleasure that ripples through Shiro’s expression as he opens himself up for Keith, until he sways forward on a moan, stifling it under the palm of his free hand while the one between his legs withdraws.

Waiting, still holding his gaze, Keith lets him gather his wits. Shiro licks his lips and takes a deep breath, then turns around again to produce something else from his little pile of supplies.

A knife. A small pocket knife with a wooden handle, the steel blade still shiny and unused. Keith stares at him with wide eyes. He doesn't have a problem with knives; he carries one he inherited from his mother every time he goes out as protection, because sometimes the mere scent of an incubus can drive people to extremes. He doesn't want knives used like this, though.

“The bond is forged through a blood exchange,” Shiro says with another reassuring smile. “Not much, just a nick, but we'll both need to sacrifice a few drops.”

 _Sacrifice_ carrying a double meaning in this case, Keith guesses, but the idea seems abhorrent to him. He's fairly flexible when it comes to ordering off the menu in bed, but the last thing he wants is for Shiro to _cut_ himself for his sake. Knives are weapons, tools; he doesn't want them involved with getting off, even if it's for the sake of an ancient bonding ritual.

He sits up from his pillows and smiles back. “Can we maybe achieve it another way?”

Shiro shrugs his shoulders, acquiescing, and puts the knife away. He doesn't resist when Keith crawls over to him and nudges him onto his back, and he opens his legs in silent invitation when Keith hovers above him, both arms braced by the sides of Shiro's head.

He leans in and nips at Shiro's lip, grazing it with his teeth. Keith slowly increases the pressure until he feels the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. He sucks his own lower lip between his teeth next to repeat the action, then kisses Shiro for all he's worth.

Shiro leans into the kiss, bucking up and _rutting_ against Keith’s thigh, getting himself off. It's unexpected, somehow, for Shiro to be so open and needy. He seems so controlled and calm in most other situations Keith's seen him in, but like this, he's shameless and unbound. And that, Keith thinks through the lust-drunk fog in his mind, is hot. It makes this more intimate and special, and Keith hears himself whine in protest when Shiro turns his head to end the kiss.

Shiro’s eyes are still closed when he withdraws. He's breathing hard, face flushed, and his chest expands with a deep inhale before he sits up and reaches for the notebook again. The second stream of words doesn't make any more sense then the first, but Keith finds he's starting to like the cadence of it, the rhythm and beauty of that old language, without knowing what the passages mean.

Shiro puts the notebook away and sits back. His eyes travel down Keith's body with intent. “It's time to pick up the pace.”

Keith wasn't aware there was a specific time for that, but regardless, he hastens to comply. He leans back and hefts an eyebrow, inviting Shiro to take in the view. Shiro laughs and looks him up and down again, stopping at his crotch this time. Keith is unabashedly hard, and under Shiro's hungry gaze he wraps a hand around himself and gives his dick a few lazy pumps.

The way Shiro licks his lips burns itself into Keith's memory.

He takes his hand away, stands and steps closer to where Shiro remains kneeling, and nerves flutter in his belly as he pushes his crotch out. Maybe this is too forward, too demanding, maybe it will –

But Shiro closes the distance between them, shuffling closer on his knees, and cants a devious smile up at Keith. He puts one hand around the base of Keith's cock and pulls Keith's foreskin all the way back with the other, bringing his mouth close enough that Keith can feel the heat of his breath against the sensitive skin of his head. Shiro’s tongue is confident as he starts to lick around the head, his mouth closing around it every so often, sucking lightly. Keith keeps his hands balled into fists to keep from gripping his hair and making him stay in place and _take it_ while Keith fucks his throat.

Keith shakes his head to derail that train of thought. That kind of rough play needs premeditation and specific consent, and he wouldn't spring it on Shiro out of the blue. So he flexes his fists, balls them harder, and focuses on the teasing attention to his dick.

Out of the blue, Shiro takes him to the hilt in one go anyway, of his own volition. All coherent thought vanishes from Keith's brain and his hips snap forward in barely restrained thrusts. Too soon he's clawing at Shiro's shoulder to signal that he's about to come.

Shiro does pull off, but he doesn't move away. He finishes Keith off with his hand, the explosive result spilling over his cheek, his shoulder, and down his chest.

“Oh damn,” Keith mumbles after struggling to pick up his scattered thoughts from the floor. He screws his eyes shut for a few seconds, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do we have to start over? We weren't supposed to come – “

Shaking his head, Shiro moves away and retrieves one of the towels and, much to Keith's chagrin, wipes himself clean. “ _I_ can't come yet. _You_ can come as many times as you like.”

His voice doesn't even change, expression neutral, but his eyes glint as he says it. And hell, Keith has never met a more tempting challenge.

“Come here,” he says as he kneels, and Shiro obeys. Their lips meet, and Keith can feel another wave of energy – not taken so much as offered and accepted – spread through his body and soothe his hunger. He nudges at Shiro until the other is spread out underneath him, strong body pliant like wax under Keith's hands, voluntarily giving up control. Keith’s cockhead nudges at Shiro’s slicked hole, pulling a low groan from his throat. Shiro’s legs close loosely around Keith's hips, and that's all the encouragement Keith needs. He rolls them both forward a little and pushes inside, slow, so slow, savoring the wet pressure around him as Shiro's body clenches down on the intrusion, but the slow roll of Shiro's pelvis urges him deeper at the same time.

He leans forward, kissing Shiro's jaw, and draws back. He holds Shiro’s gaze while he stays his own movements just to drink the moment in, and then slams back inside with one powerful thrust.

Shiro arches against him, the muscles in his arms flexing as he reaches out for a bed sheet that isn't there, and scratches his nails across the floor instead. All that beauty, all that strength, and right now it's all centered around Keith, driven by the pleasure Keith is giving him. He smiles, taking hold of the underside of Shiro's thighs, and folds them forward for a better angle.

“Normally I'd take care of your dick now and jerk you off while I fuck you,” he says, tries to keep his tone casual but doesn't quite manage to keep the heat out of it, the breathless desire. “But, well. You said we're supposed to draw it out, right?”

Shiro moans, and Keith isn't quite sure if it's agreement or feeble protest. He pushes in slowly, well-aimed but lacking the quick pace required to get either of them anywhere fast, and smiles when it produces another moan, drawn-out and full of need. Maybe he'll just keep going like this; tease Shiro long enough that he'll come on Keith's cock without any other stimulation whatsoever.

“The notebook,” Shiro says, and the words tapper out into a low whine when Keith withdraws and slides into him again, making sure to catch his prostate on the way both times. “The notebook,” he tries again. “I need...”

Keith leans down to kiss him, just a quick taste, and then he pulls out, rubbing the head of his cock against Shiro's swollen hole while he works himself. He's wound up enough that it only takes a few strokes and then he's coming with a strangled growl. It’s less than before, but still enough to smear it across Shiro's ass and balls, marking him.

After a moment to get his breath back, he rises to fetch the notebook, and then sits down beside Shiro's body, legs crossed. He lets Shiro read out the next passage before he takes hold of Shiro’s still hard dick, moving his hand up and down with just this side of enough pressure. Shiro pushes up into the friction and groans with need and frustration when he seems to realize that Keith's just going to tease him more.

“I trust you'll let me know when we're ready?” Keith asks, conversationally.

Shiro nods. “One more passage,” he says. “Soon.”

The last bit might be reassurance for himself, rather than information for Keith's benefit, and Keith decides if that's the case he can up the ante. He grips Shiro's cock more firmly and works him in long strokes, rubbing his thumb over the head after every upstroke, and pinches the base after every downstroke. Shiro's entire body moves with him, following him like the tide follows the moon. A few more times, and then Keith rubs his palm over the head instead, quickly, again and again, while forming a tight ring around the base with his other hand.

Shiro keens, strong thighs quivering with the effort to keep himself from coming, and waves desperately for the notebook again. Keith stops touching him altogether, hands him the book, and leans back.

The second Shiro's done reciting, he throws the notebook away and sits up, pushing at Keith's shoulders. Keith relents and lays back, and Shiro climbs atop him, straddling him as he lines Keith's cock up to sink down on. He takes him inside in one long slide and begins fucking himself on Keith’s cock without restraint, not holding back anymore. His lack of coordination is made up for by instinct and need, finally chasing his own pleasure. Keith allows it, thrusting up occasionally to disrupt his movements and force him to readjust, but otherwise lets himself be used.

Shiro leans forward to kiss him. Energy starts flowing between them again, and Keith is torn between consuming everything he's being given, feeding like his body is telling him he needs to, and trying to hold back out of concern. Shiro shakes his head and smiles.

“Don't,” he says. “Take what you need. It's okay.”

And Keith does. Keith takes, bucking up against him, energy filling him up alongside the pleasure. He comes again, holding fast to the small of Shiro's back as his mouth falls open in ecstasy, and not long after he feels Shiro clench around him one last time before he, too, plunges over the edge. His orgasm is accompanied by a wave of energy that flows around them both, strong enough to makes the candles flicker.

After a moment of shared, mindless bliss, Shiro slides off him and they lie there, side by side on the floor, naked and filthy, both breathing raggedly. Keith closes his eyes, relaxed and sated, satisfied, _full_.

“History is awesome,” he says. “So glad I took this course. Big fan.”

Shiro laughs, warm and happy, and Keith grins, shifting to cross the space between them and curl up in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [This Love Has Led Me to the End (the Rough Waters Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19156120) by [imagines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines)




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